


no. 7

by petitepeach



Series: prompt fills [6]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Comfort, Communication, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fill, and a thunderstorm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 08:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19719763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petitepeach/pseuds/petitepeach
Summary: for the prompt -"i almost lost you."





	no. 7

**Author's Note:**

> whenever i have trouble sleeping, i listen to playlists of thunderstorms. there's just something about them i find so incredibly comforting, and i wanted to try to convey that in a fic ✨

Lucas wakes to the distant rumble of thunder.

It’s not that he doesn’t like thunderstorms. He does, he just likes them the most when he spends them wrapped up with Eliott, a tangle of limbs underneath a soft duvet, whispered secrets and drooping eyelids, lingering kisses pressed to cheeks, foreheads, lips.

He reaches out for him, for Eliott, fingers seeking warm skin, long, bony limbs, but his hand lands on flat, cool sheets.

Lucas is still waking up, still shaking off a dream where he and Eliott were meteors, chasing each other around Saturn, so his head is filled with the thick air of space and it takes a second for him to get it, for his fingers to curl into the mattress and to feel it barely give, for him to recognize the absence.

He rolls himself over to Eliott’s side of the bed, buries his face in the pillow and sighs. His inhale smells like Eliott.

He reaches out and touches the home button on his phone, sees that it’s only a bit after two in the morning.

They had gone to sleep early that night, exhausted from a day out in the humid summer air with the boys, exhausted from the three rounds of sweaty sex they had when they got back to the coloc. After an icy shower Lucas had fallen asleep spooning up behind Eliott’s back, lips pressed to the nape of his neck.

He’d been drunk on sunshine and heat and love and orgasms and he’d said, _Hey. Eliott. Eliott. Did you know that you’re the love of my life?_

What had Eliott said? Something like, _Go to sleep, Lucas._

Now, Lucas throws back the duvet and stands, wearing nothing but his boxers, toes wriggling against the cool wood floor. Outside, it’s pouring, a rain that makes him think of a black and white detective film Eliott had made him watch last week. Heavy drops spilling down the brims of fedoras. Soaking the shoulders of trench coats. 

More thunder rumbles overhead.

Arthur had predicted it, when they’d been at the park earlier, standing on the edge of the water with his hands on his hips staring out into the middle distance like a character from a Jules Verne novel.

_It’s going to thunderstorm tonight. I bet you anything._

_How the hell do you know?_ Basile asked.

Eliott had leaned over to where Lucas was lying on his back, blocking the sun out with his face. Lucas squinted up at him.

_Did you hear that?_ Eliott said. _A thunderstorm. I love thunderstorms._

Lucas snorted. _I know you do._

_Do you know why?_ Eliott asked.

Lucas shrugged.

_They’re romantic_ , Eliott said, leaning down far enough that he could push Lucas’s sunglasses off of his face, far enough that he could press their lips together. 

Lucas walks out of the bedroom quietly, into the dark, silent flat. There’s no noise from Lisa’s room and Mika’s shoes are missing. Still at that party, then. Or maybe he crashed somewhere else because of the storm.

Eliott isn’t in the kitchen, isn’t in the bathroom, and Lucas is trying not to let himself panic, trying to calmly wonder if there were any signs of hypomania earlier that day. He’s no expert, but he’s gotten better at noticing, especially with Eliott being open with him, helping him.

He wracks his brain, but comes up with nothing.

He tries not to think about Eliott running through the soaked, lightning-lit streets naked. Tries not to think about going out to find him.

He enters the kitchen and there, it’s such a wave of relief inside of Lucas’s body it’s palpable, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.

Eliott.

He’s sitting on the living room windowsill, the one that leads out onto to the wrought iron fire escape. His back is to Lucas, bare and wide, half in the darkness of the flat, half in the faint light from outside, the grey-blue-black of a thunderstorm night.

Lucas takes a few tentative steps towards him, makes sure to step on the floorboards that creak the loudest, not wanting to surprise Eliott. Not wanting to scare him.

A flash of lightning erupts in the thick cloud cover, washes enough light over Eliott that Lucas can make out the notches of his spine, _one, two, three, four, five…_ Lucas wants to kiss them.

Instead, he whispers, “Eliott,” and gently reaches his hands out, rests them on Eliott’s back. 

There’s a moment where neither of them say anything, a moment where it seems like Eliott is holding himself up, stiff, but then he sighs, his shoulders deflate. “Lucas,” he murmurs, and Lucas slides his hands to Eliott’s chest, wraps his arms around him, and presses his mouth to the highest notch of his spine.

“Hi,” he says, can’t resist giving a little kiss to the notch. “Can’t sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Another little kiss. “I can make you tea if you want.”

“No.” Eliott’s voice is faint, a bit distant, and Lucas takes it as an introspective mood, takes it as Eliott wanting to be left alone.

“Alright,” he says lightly, easily, “I’m going back to bed.”

He’s pulling his arms back but Eliott reaches up, fast, grips onto Lucas’s hands.

“Can you stay?” Lucas doesn’t say anything so Eliott prompts, “Please?”

“Sure.” Lucas squeezes Eliott’s hands. “Sure. But if I’m staying I want tea.”

He does make himself tea, comes back wearing Eliott’s hoodie, the zip open against his bare chest, carrying two mugs with clouds of steam wafting out.

“Only if you change your mind,” Lucas says, placing the second mug down on the floor near the window sill. “It’s Lisa’s. Chamomile.”

Lucas sits down on the sill as well, back against the frame, legs hanging into the living room. Outside, the streetlights are pale dots of orange between sheets of rain, the trees swaying against water and wind. Lucas watches as two girls sprint down the street, barefoot, both of them carrying their shoes and shrieking, laughing. 

Another streak of lightning. Thunder follows.

Lucas blows on his tea.

He thinks he can hear jazz playing from somewhere, someone’s apartment window open to the night storm, rain spilling in and music spilling out. 

“Do you hear that?” He asks Eliott. “The music?”

Eliott doesn’t say anything so Lucas continues.

“There must be some people dancing, somewhere. Huh. That’s kinda nice, actually.”

Eliott still says nothing, but Lucas catches the corner of a smile, and it makes him smile in turn, down into his tea.

They sit there in silence for Lucas doesn’t know how long, listening to the storm, watching the occasional pedestrian down below battle the elements. Eliott picks up his tea and takes a sip, and Lucas tries not to show how smug he is.

Eventually, though, eventually Lucas wants to say something. Just. Something.

He gently pokes Eliott’s knee, at the side, where it’s hinging at the edge of the sill. “Hey,” he says. “Eliott.”

Eliott doesn’t look over but Lucas knows he’s listening.

“If there’s something going on, you can tell me. I mean, I know you know that, and I also know you know that you don’t have to tell me. You can keep it private if you want. I just…wanted to remind you, I guess, and I want you to tell me if I’ve done something wrong, or if I’m doing something wrong, you know? I’d rather know than make a mistake. I almost lost you, before, because of that.”

The words are out before Lucas even registers them, caught up in the simultaneous stillness and chaos inherent with every thunderstorm. He knows he means the words—he fears fucking up and losing Eliott more than pretty much anything—but he didn’t mean to say them, especially when Eliott may or may not be in a sensitive state.

Eliott’s head whips up, eyes wide on Lucas’s face. “What?”

Lucas waves his free hand at him. “No, I’m sorry, forget I said that last bit, we don’t need to think about that—”

“When did you almost lose me?”

Lucas blinks. His mug is cooling down, losing its heat between the rain-soaked air and Lucas’s icy hands. 

“Well, when…” Lucas really doesn’t want to get into this, but Eliott is looking at him like he desperately needs to know the answer, so he says, “When I said that thing to you, about mentally ill people? About my mom? That. I said something that really hurt you without realizing it. Something ignorant. Something mean.” He tries on a shrug but it doesn’t fit, a jacket three sizes too big, too loose for how tight his chest feels. “I just never want to do that again.”

“You never lost me.”

The sentence hangs between them, gets washed away down the fire escape with the rain until it hits the pavement, swirls into a drain.

It’s Lucas’s turn to say, “What?”

“Never,” Eliott says. “I was always yours, from the very first second I saw you. I didn’t think you were mine.” Eliott has a weird look on his face that Lucas can’t decipher. It makes him nervous. “Lucas, it was me who almost lost you. I almost lost you because I lied to you, because I put you in danger.”

“Eliott, please, I was never in—”

“I did lose you, didn’t I?”

A boom of thunder rolls through, so loud it makes Lucas startle, makes what’s left of his tea slosh precariously close to the edges of the mug.

He turns back to Eliott but he’s not looking at Lucas anymore. He’s staring down, frowning.

“Eliott,” Lucas says gently, “I didn’t mean to bring all of that up, okay? I’m so sorry. But you have to know you never lost me either.” He pokes at Eliott’s knee again, needs Eliott to look at him. “I’ve always been yours too.”

“I was thinking about it,” Eliott blurts out, knee twitching under Lucas’s touch. He sets his mug down on the ledge, runs his hands through his hair, over his face. “I was thinking about it all day yesterday, something that Yann said about you getting drunk on a Sunday. After that night.”

Lucas feels his cheeks flush. “Alright, I’m not proud of—”

“No.” Eliott shakes his head. “It made me so upset, because I did that to you. I made you hurt that much. And then, I…you told me I’m the love of your life, and I thought, how can he love me like this when I’ve hurt him so much?”

“Oh, Eliott—”

“I woke up because of something, I don’t even remember what, and you were right next to me, looking completely perfect, beautiful like a painting like a fucking _dream_ and I couldn’t understand it.” Eliott’s eyes trail down the street, dance across any still-lit windows. “I couldn’t understand how I can still have you when I’ve made you feel like that. Like you have to get drunk to forget me.”

“Baby,” Lucas sets his own mug down and reaches for Eliott’s hands, twines their fingers together, “we hurt each other. And it was awful, but we don’t do that anymore. I got drunk. I made that choice. I was sad, we both were, but now we’re healing, right? Now we take things minute by minute and we talk to one another. Please don’t be cruel to yourself for something that happened in the past, something that we’re fixing.” Lucas takes a breath. “Please don’t tell yourself you don’t deserve this. That scares me.” 

He squeezes Eliott’s hands. Eliott nods, once. 

“I’m sorry,” Eliott whispers. “I never want to scare you.”

“I know that. But you do when you act like we don’t have a chance.”

“Okay,” Eliott says. Lucas can see his breaths evening out, ribs expanding and contracting gently. “Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing.” Lucas smiles when he says it, heart warm and light when Eliott smiles back.

Eliott lifts their joined hands to his mouth, gently kisses Lucas’s knuckles. “Your hands are so cold,” he murmurs against the skin. He kisses them again. “You’re the love of my life. I didn’t say it back before, because I was too…in my own head. But it bothered me that I didn’t say it back.”

Lucas giggles, full of summer air and relief. “Sap,” he says, but it’s coupled with him stretching his legs across Eliott’s lap, moving his mug down to the floor.

Eliott detangles their fingers to run a hand up Lucas’s thigh. “Thank you,” he says softly, slowly trailing the hand back down. His touch leaves goosebumps behind. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

Lucas shivers, wraps Eliott’s hoodie tighter around himself. “You have to put up with _me_ ,” he reminds Eliott, half-teasing and half-serious.

One of Eliott’s hands slides behind Lucas’s knee, gently lifts it while he bends down. “That’s not hard to do,” he says, voice soft and honey-sweet, pressing a kiss to Lucas’s knee. He nuzzles his face a bit higher, kisses where knee meets inner thigh, breath warm against his skin. “I’m in love with you.” Another kiss, a little higher. Another breath. “Fuck, I’m so in love with you.”

Lucas exhales shakily, runs a hand through Eliott’s hair. “I’m in love with you too. Eliott, we’ll keep talking to each other. We’ll keep being honest. That’s what will be the difference between what happened before, and what’s happening now.”

“Yeah.” Eliott presses another kiss to his thigh and straightens up. There’s another rumble of thunder in the sky and the rain is still pounding onto the street, and Lucas can still hear the jazz music playing. 

They’re both silent for a beat, staring at each other, eyes dark and mouths curled into soft smiles. Smiles that say, _you’re here_ , smiles that say, _I’m here_ , smiles that say, _stay with me._

“Do you want to dance?” Eliott asks. “Like those people you were talking about.” He taps his fingers against Lucas’s legs, completely off-rhythm from the music. “I’ll dance with you.”

Lucas shakes his head. “Nah.” He gently runs his index finger down Eliott’s nose, all the way to his lips. “I’m fine to sit here with you.” Eliott’s lips purse against his finger in a kiss. Lucas lowers his voice to a whisper. “Also, you’re a terrible dancer.“

Eliott grins, wide and lopsided, and his teeth bump up against Lucas’s hand. “Do you know why I like thunderstorms?”

Lucas’s finger travels down to Eliott’s chest, traces nonsensical patterns over his heart. “Because they’re romantic?”

“Because they remind me of you.”

A startled laugh. “Yeah? How’s that?”

“You know, when the city is so hot, it’s claustrophobic, and everyone is praying for a thunderstorm to break the humidity, and then it comes, fresh air and all of Paris exhales and it’s like we can all move again, we’re human again. And that’s what you’ve always been like, for me. You’re that thunderstorm.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading :'))))
> 
> on tumblr [@lepetitepeach](https://lepetitepeach.tumblr.com)


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